Part 34

In the course of my conversation with him upon the occasion first mentioned, I inquired whether he had ever met either Webster, Clay, or Calhoun. He replied that it was a matter of deep regret to him that he had never seen either Clay or Webster, but that he had in his early manhood heard a masterful speech from Mr. Calhoun. Mr. Trumbull had then just been graduated from an eastern college; and on his way to Greenville, Georgia, to take charge of a school, he spent a few days in Charleston, South Carolina. This was in 1833, and the speech of Mr. Calhoun was in vindication of his course in the Senate in voting for the Compromise Bill of Mr. Clay, which provided for the gradual reduction of the tariff. The alleged injustice of the tariff law then in force had been the prime cause of the "nullification" excitement precipitated by South Carolina at that eventful period. The proclamation of President Jackson, it will be remembered, proved the death-blow, and the nullification excitement soon thereafter subsided. Mr. Trumbull told me that he distinctly recalled John C. Calhoun, his commanding presence and splendid argument, as he addressed the large assemblage. As a clear-brained logician--whose statement alone was almost unanswerable argument--he thought Mr. Calhoun unsurpassed by any statesman our country had known. Mr. Trumbull added that at the close of Mr. Calhoun's speech before mentioned, amid great enthusiasm, "Hayne! Hayne!" was heard from every part of the vast assemblage. For an hour or more he then listened spell-bound to Robert Y. Hayne, the formidable antagonist even of Webster in a debate now historic. Mr. Trumbull said that of the two generations of public men he had heard, he had never listened to one more eloquent than Hayne.

XLVIII IN THE HIGHLANDS

THE WRITER THE GUEST OF A GENTLEMAN IN THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS-- DUNSTAFFNAGE CASTLE--IONA AND SAINT COLUMBA--SENATOR BECK AND MR. SMITH BOTH DEVOTEES OF BURNS.

During a sojourn of some weeks on the western coast of Scotland, I was the guest for a time of Mr. Stewart, the head of what remained of a once powerful clan in the Highlands. My host was a distinguished member of the London Bar, but spent his Summers at the home of his ancestors a few miles out from Alpin. Here, in as romantic a locality as is known even to the Highlands, with his kindred about him he enjoyed a full measure of repose from the distracting cares of the great metropolis. At the time of my visit his brother, an officer of the British army, just returned from India, was with him. Both gentlemen wore kilts for the time; and all the appointments of the house were reminders of bygone centuries when border warfare was in full flower, forays upon the Lowlands of constant occurrence, and the principle of the clans in action,

"Let him take who has the power And let him hold who can."

At the bountifully furnished board of my Highland host there was much "upon the plain highway of talk" I will not soon forget. And then, with the gathering shadows in the ancestral hall, with the rude weapons of past generations hanging upon every wall, and the stirring strains of the bagpipe coming from the distance, it was worth while to listen to the Highland legends that had been handed down from sire to son.

Not far away was the old castle of Dunstaffnage, which in its prime had been the scene of innumerable tournaments and battles that have added many pages to Scottish annals. Within the enclosure of the old castle sleeps the dust of long ago kings--the veritable grave of Macbeth being readily pointed out to inquiring travellers.

The conversation around the hearthstone of my host turned to the famous island of the Inner Hebrides, Iona, with its wonderful history reaching back to the sixth century. The ruins of the old monastery, built fourteen hundred years ago by the fugitive Saint, Columba, are well worth visiting. The dust of the early kings of Norway, Ireland, and Scotland rest within these ancient walls, and it is gratifying to know that here even the ill-fated Duncan

"After life's fitful fever sleeps well."

It would have been passing strange, with host and guests all of Scottish lineage, if there had been no mention of Robbie Burns, for in old Scotia, whether in palace or hovel, the one subject that never tires is the "ploughman poet of Ayr." A little incident of slightly American relish which I related the evening of my departure needed no "surgical operation" to find appropriate lodgment.

Senator Beck of Kentucky was a Scotchman. He was in the highest sense a typical Scotchman--lacking nothing, either of the brawn, brain, or brogue, of the most gifted of that race. It is needless to say he was a lover of Burns. From "Tam O'Shanter" to "Mary in Heaven," all were safely garnered in his memory--to be rolled out in rich, melodious measure at the opportune moment. The close friend and associate of Senator Beck, when the cares of State were for a time in abeyance, and the fishing season at its best, was "old Smith," superintendent of the Botanical Gardens, also a Scotchman, and likewise in intense degree a devotee of Burns. The bond of union between the man of flowers and the Kentucky statesman was complete.

Now, it so fell out that a newly elected member of the House, from the Green River district, one day called upon his distinguished colleague of the Senate, and requested a note of introduction to the superintendent of the Botanical Gardens, as he wished to procure some flowers to send a lady constituent then in the city. "Certainly, certainly," replied the ever-obliging statesman: "I will give you a line to old Smith." Just as the delighted member was departing with the letter in hand, Senator Beck remarked, in his peculiarly snappy Scotch accent, "Now, Tom, if you will only tell old Smith that you are a great admirer of his countryman, Robbie Burns, he will give you all the flowers in the conservatory." The member, who knew as little of Burns as he did of the "thirty-nine articles," departed in high feather.

Almost immediately thereafter, presenting his letter, he was received with great cordiality by the superintendent and assured that any request of Senator Beck would be cheerfully granted. Just as he was reaching out for the fragrant bouquet the superintendent was graciously presenting, the closing words of the Senator were indistinctly recalled, and in a manner indicating no small measure of self-confidence, the member remarked, "By the way, Mr. Smith, I am a great admirer of your countryman, _Jimmy_ Burns." "Jimmy Burns! Jimmy Burns! Jimmy Burns!" exclaimed the overwhelmingly indignant Scotchman, _"Jimmy_ Burns! _Depart instantly, sir!"_

The member from Green River district _departed_ as bidden, taking no thought of the flowers; delighted--as he often asservated--to have escaped even with his life.

XLIX ANECDOTES OF LAWYERS

JUDGE BALDWIN'S BOOK, "THE FLUSH TIMES"--DEFENDANT'S COUNSEL ASKS ONE QUESTION TOO MANY--CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE AGAINST A CARD-PLAYER --JOHN RANDOLPH'S REVENGE--HORACE GREELEY NOT A MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL--A CANDIDATE'S QUALIFICATIONS FOR SCHOOL-TEACHING--THE AUTHOR OF "DON'T YOU REMEMBER SWEET ALICE, BEN BOLT?"--A CANDIDATE'S POSITION WITH REGARD TO THE MAINE LAW--GOVERNOR TILDEN'S POPULARITY --MR. TRAVERS MISSES A PORTRAIT--A CANDIDATE FOR HOLY ORDERS TELLS A BIBLE STORY.

No better place can be found for studying that most interesting of all subjects, Man, than in our courts of justice. Indeed, what a readable book that would be which related the best things which have occurred at the bar!

Judge Baldwin conferred an inestimable blessing upon our profession when he wrote "The Flush Times," a book that will hold a place in our literature as long as there is a lawyer left on earth. To two generations of our craft this book has furnished agreeable and delightful entertainment. To the practitioner "shattered with the contentions of the great hall," its pages have been as refreshing as the oasis to the travel-stained pilgrim.

The late Justice Field, long his associate upon the supreme bench of California, told me that Judge Baldwin was one of the most genial and delightful men he had ever known, and certainly he must have been to have written "Cave Burton," "My First Appearance at the Bar," "A Hung Court," and "Ovid Bolus, Esq., Attorney-at-law and Solicitor in Chancery."

Almost every Bar has some tradition or incident worth preserving --something in the way of brilliant witticisms or repartee that should not be wholly lost. Of the race of old-time lawyers--of which Mr. Lincoln was the splendid type--but few remain. Of the survivors, I know of no better representative than Proctor Knott of Kentucky. The possessor of ability of the highest order, and of splendid attainments as well, he is of all men the best story-teller this country of ours has known. Among his delighted auditors in and out of Congress have been men from every section and of exalted public station. For some of the incidents to be related I am indebted to Governor Knott. The obligation would be much greater if the stories could be retold in manner and form as in the days gone by, and upon occasions never to be forgotten when they fell from his own lips.

If, however, even fairly well I might garner up and hand down some of the experiences of the generation of lawyers now passing, I would feel that I had, in some humble measure, discharged that obligation that Lord Bacon says, "every man owes to his profession."

ONE QUESTION TOO MANY

What lawyer has not, at some time, in the trial of a case asked just _one question_ too many? I know of nothing better along that line of inquiry than the following related by Governor Knott. He was attending the Circuit Court in one of the Green River counties in Kentucky, when the case of the "Commonwealth _versus_ William Jenkins" was called for trial. The aforesaid William was under indictment for having bitten off the ear of the prosecuting witness. Fairly strong but by no means conclusive testimony against the defendant had been given when the State "rested."

A lawyer of the old school, who still carried his green bag into Court, and who never wearied of telling of his conflicts at the bar with Grundy, Holt, and Ben Hardin, in their palmiest days, was retained for the defence. His chief witness was Squire Barnhouse, who lived over on the "Rolling Fork." He was the magistrate for his precinct, deacon in the church, and the recognized oracle for the neighborhood. Upon direct examination, in the case _at bar,_ he testified that "he knowed the defendant William Jenkins; had knowed him thirty year or more; knowed his father and mother afore him." Inquired of then as to the general reputation of the defendant, as to his being "a peaceable and law-abiding citizen," he was found to be all that could be reasonably desired.

Squire Barnhouse was then asked whether he was present at the Caney Fork muster, where it was alleged that the defendant had bitten off the ear of the prosecuting witness. It turned out that he was present. Further questioned as to whether he had paid particular attention to the fight, he replied that he did; that he "had never seed Billy in a fout before, and he had a kind of family pride in seein' how _he would handle himself."_ Further questioned as to whether he saw the defendant bite off the ear of the prosecuting witness he replied, "No, sir, nothin' uv the kind, nothin' uv the kind." This was followed by the inquiry as to whether his opportunities were such that he would most probably have seen it, if it had occurred. "In course I would, in course I would," was the emphatic reply.

The witness was here turned over to the Commonwealth's attorney, who declined to cross-examine, and Squire Barnhouse was in the act of leaving the stand when in an evil hour it occurred to defendant's counsel to ask one question more.

"By the way, Squire, _just one more question,_ just where you stand; now I understood you to say"--repeating the answers already given; "now just this question, did you see anything occur while the fight was going on, or after it was over, that would lead you to believe that this defendant had bitten off the ear of the prosecuting witness?"

The Squire, half down the witness stand, answered, "No, sir, nothing uv the kind," then, slowly and thoughtfully, "nothing uv the kind." A moment's pause. "Well, since you mention it, I do remember that just as Billy rizened up offen him the last time, I seed him spit out a piece of ear, _but whose ear it was,_ I don't pertend to know."

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

In the good County of Scotland, in the State of Missouri, back in the ante-bellum days there lived one Solomon Davis, whose chronic horror was card-playing. The evils of this life were in his judgment largely to be attributed to this terrible habit. It was his belief that if the Grand Jury would only take hold of the matter in the right spirit, a stop could be put to the "nefarious habit of _card-playing,_ which was ruining the morals of so many young men in Scotland County." This was the burden of his discourse in and out of season. His ardent desire that he himself should be called on the Grand Jury to the accomplishment of the end mentioned was at length gratified. At a certain term of court he was not only summoned upon the Grand Jury, but duly appointed its foreman.

Upon the adjournment of court for dinner, immediately thereafter, one Ben Mason, the wit of the bar,--and not himself wholly _unacquainted_ with the pastime that involved spades, kings, and even queens,-- ardently congratulated the new foreman upon his appointment, assuring him that now his opportunity had come to put to an end, by the omnipotent power of the Grand Jury, "to the nefarious habit of card-playing which was ruining the morals of so many young men in Scotland County."

"And now, Squire," continued Ben, "I can give you the name of a gentleman who doesn't play himself, but is always around where playing is going on, and he can tell you who plays, where they play, how much is bet, and all about it."

Delighted at this apparently providential revelation, the Squire had a subpoena forthwith issued for the witness mentioned, one Ranzey Sniffle, a half-witted fellow who had never taken or expected to take a part in the game himself, but whose cup of happiness was full to the brim when, in return for punching up the fires, mixing the drinks, and snuffing the candle, he was permitted _to see the play actually going on._

Trembling with apprehension at the dread summons to appear before the "Grand Inquest"--if it had been three centuries earlier at Saragossa it could scarcely have appeared more alarming--the witness was ushered into the immediate presence of the awful tribunal over which Squire Davis was now presiding. After taking the customary oath, and telling his name, age, and where he lived, Mr. Sniffle was questioned by the foreman as to his personal knowledge of any game or games of cards being played for money, or any valuable thing, within one year last past, within the said County of Scotland, and solemnly warned, if he had any such knowledge, to proceed in his own way, and tell all about it; to tell when and where it was, _who were present,_ and what amount, if any, was bet.

Recovering himself a little by this time, the witness began:

"The last time I seed them playin', Squire, was at Levi Myers's sto'; they sot in about sundown last Saturday night, and never loosened their grip until Monday mornin' about daylight."

"Now, Mr. Sniffle," interrupted the Squire with great dignity, "will you proceed in your own way, to give to the gentlemen of this Grand Jury _the names_ of the persons who were thus engaged not only in violating the statute law of Missouri, but in violating the law of God by desecrating the holy Sabbath?"

"Well, Squire," continued the witness, slowly counting off on his fingers, "thar was Levi Myers, Sammy Hocum, Moss Johnson, Josiah Davis,"--"Suspend, Mr. Sniffle, _suspend,"_ commanded the Squire with great indignation, and turning to his official associates, he continued, "I am aware, gentlemen of the Grand Jury, that my son Josiah is sometimes present when cards are being played, but he assures me on his honor as a gentleman, that he never _takes part,_ and doesn't even know one card from another. Now, Mr. Witness, do you undertake, under the solemn sanction of an oath, to say that my son Josiah was _engaged_ in the game? By the way, Mr. Sniffle, do you understand the nature of an oath?"

"No, Squire," slowly replied the witness, "I dun know as I do."

"Don't you know _what will become of you,_ Ranze, if you swear to a lie?" quickly asked a juryman from a back seat.

"Yas, in course, if I swar to a lie, they'll send me to the penitentiary, and then I'll go to hell afterwards," replied Mr. Sniffle.

The _competency_ of the witness thus appearing, the foreman proceeded:

"Now, Mr. Sniffle, do you, under the solemn sanction of an oath, undertake to say that my son Josiah was _engaged_ in that game?"

"I dun know as I adzackly understand the meanin' of bein' engaged in the game; but I seed Josiah a-dealin' the papes, when his time come to fling a card he flung it, and uv'ry now and then, _he rech out and drug in the chicerokum._ I dun know as I adzackly understand 'bout bein' engaged in the game, but if _that_ were bein' engaged, then Josiah were _engaged!"_

JOHN RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE

Seldom have more significant words been uttered than those of John Randolph of Roanoke, when told that a certain man had been denouncing him. "Denouncing me," replied Randolph, with astonishment, "that is strange, _I never did him a favor."_

The voice of but one John Randolph of Roanoke has mingled in the contentions of the Great Hall. That was no cause for regret, as for a lifetime he was the dread of political foes and friends alike.

A colleague from "the valley" probably remembered him well to the last. That colleague, recently elected to fill a vacancy caused by the death of a member of long service, signalized his entrance into the House by an unprovoked attack upon Mr. Randolph. The latter, from his seat near by, listened with apparent unconcern to the fierce personal assault. To the surprise of all, no immediate reply was made to the speech, and the new member flattered himself, no doubt, that the "grim sage" was for once completely unhorsed.

A few days later, however, Randolph, while discussing a bill of local importance, casually remarked: "This bill, Mr. Speaker, lost its ablest advocate in the death of my lamented colleague, _whose seat is still vacant!"_

HORACE GREELEY

It will be remembered that the will of Stephen Girard of Philadelphia, after a splendid bequest for the establishment of the great University which bears his name, provided that no minister of the Gospel should ever be permitted to enter the grounds of the institution.

It so happened upon a time, that Horace Greeley, wearing white hat and cravat, and with his ministerial cast of countenance well in evidence, sauntered up to the gate of the Girard institution and was about to enter. He was instantly stopped by the keeper, who bluntly told him that he could not enter.

"What the hell is the reason I can't?" demanded Greeley.

"Oh! I beg your pardon," apologized the astonished gate-keeper, _"walk right in, sir; you can."_

PATRIOTIC TO THE CORE

Judge Allen of southern Illinois, a leading member of Congress a half-century ago, during a recent address to the old settlers of McLean County related an incident of early days on the Wabash. Population was sparse, and the common school was yet far in the future. The teacher who could read, write, and "cipher" to the "single rule of three" was well equipped for his noble calling. Lamentable failures upon the part of aspirants to attain even the modest standard indicated, were by no means of rare occurrence.

Back in the thirties, an individual of by no means prepossessing appearance presented himself to Judge Allen's father, the Magistrate, Ruling Elder, and _ex-officio_ school director for his precinct, and asked permission "to keep school." Being interrogated as to what branches he could teach, the three R's--readin', 'ritin', and 'rithmetic--were, with apparent confidence, at once put in nomination.

"Have you ever taught geography and English grammar?" was the next inquiry.

With a much less confident tone, as he had probably never heard of either, he replied:

"I have teached geography some, but as for English grammar, I wouldn't 'low one of 'em to come into my school-house. _'Merican grammar is good enough for me!"_

"SWEET ALICE, BEN BOLT"

A touching scene occurred in the House of Representatives a number of years ago, when an aged member from New Jersey arose, and for the first time addressed the Speaker. All eyes were turned in his direction as he stood calmly awaiting recognition. He was tall, spare, and erect. His venerable appearance and kindly expression, coupled with most courteous manners, at once commanded attention. As in husky tones he again said, "Mr. Speaker!" there came from the farthest end of the Great Hall in a whisper but distinctly heard by all, the word, "Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt." A moment later, and from the floor and gallery many voices blended in the familiar refrain, "Don't you remember sweet Alice Ben Bolt?"

The ovation which immediately followed was such as is rarely witnessed in the Great Hall. Business was suspended for the moment, and the hand of the new member warmly grasped by the chosen representatives of all parties and sections. It was an inspiring tribute, one worthily bestowed. The member was Thomas Dunn English, author of the little poem, sung in palace and cottage, which has found its way into all languages, and touched all hearts.

THE MAINE LAW

The mention of the "Maine Law" recalls a little episode that occurred in the early days in the good county of McLean. One Duncan--no kinsman to him who had been

"So clear in his great office"--

was again a candidate for the Legislature. The temperance question, in some of its many phases, was then giving much trouble to aspirants to public place. In the midst of his opening speech at the old courthouse, the candidate was interrupted by one of the inquisitive men who always appear when least wanted, with the question: "Mr. Duncan, are you _in favor_ of the Maine Law?" "Yes, yes," quickly replied the candidate, "I am coming to that very soon." Shying off to the tariff, the improvement of Western rivers, and the necessity of rigid economy in all public expenditures, our candidate was about to close when the same troublesome inquiry, "Mr. Duncan, _are you in favor_ of the Maine Law?" again greeted his unwilling ears. "Oh, yes," exclaimed the orator, in tone and manner indicating much thankfulness. "I am glad you called my attention to his subject; I was about to forget it. My fellow-citizens have a right to know my views upon all public questions, and I have nothing to conceal. I have no respect for candidates who attempt to dodge any of these great questions. I have given you fully, my views upon the tariff, upon a general system of internal improvements, and something of my own services in the past; and now thanking you for your attention, will ----" "Mr. Duncan, are you _in favor of the Maine Law?"_ were the words that again escaped the lips of the importunate inquisitor.

Fully appreciating his dilemma--with constituents about equally divided upon the dangerous question--the candidate at once nerved himself for the answer upon which hung his hopes and fears and boldly replied; "Yes, sir, I am in favor of the law, but _everlastingly opposed to its enforcement!"_

HOW HE GOT HIS MAJORITY